


Come my Beloved

by aPlaugeOnAllYourFandoms



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, M/M, Religion
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-11
Updated: 2019-08-10
Packaged: 2020-08-18 19:04:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,357
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20196568
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aPlaugeOnAllYourFandoms/pseuds/aPlaugeOnAllYourFandoms
Summary: Faced with thoughts of hell and damnation when it comes to religion, Aziraphale tries something else. And when he meets a very attractive man who offers to help him, how can he say no?





	Come my Beloved

**Author's Note:**

> A fic where Aziraphale tries to regain his faith in G0d (and maybe find a boyfriend in the process).
> 
> Note: I am not saying that Judiasm is in any way equal to being a demon. I'm Jewish. Also, this is very much based on mine and friend's experiences with religion, and is very personal.
> 
> I will try to update this and make it more than one chapter if I feel like that is wanted, but I am bad at updating, FYI.
> 
> Anyway, enjoy!

It wasn't a brilliant idea, not even a good one, by most standards. But Aziraphale was done with overthinking everything. Or at least, he was trying to be done with overthinking everything. He had spent hours and hours staring at his big King James' Bible. It used to be a huge comfort item, but now it seemed that whenever Aziraphale skimmed through the book, the only words that popped out were hell, damnation, and sin. It was the only thing in his head lately. All that played as he attempted to drift off was fire. Hell motivated his thoughts and feelings. And he was starting to feel that he deserved damnation. Everytime he went to church, which was everyday, he would scan the floor, counting the tiles below him. He would then be concerned that he was looking towards hell, and would look up instead, only to feel that he was too low to look up. So instead he would look ahead, and right towards what he was avoiding.   
Father Gabriel was oddly muscular, and it bothered Azriphale. A man should not be holy and beautiful, he had decided, it was one or the other. But Father Gabriel had both, and it was that reason that Azriphale found himself oddly attracted to the man. He found himself in the middle of mass, only to look up at the priest, and lose all holy thoughts immediately. It was making church very hard to go to. Aziraphale would, even at home, associate prayer with Gabriel. He would start a Hail Mary, only to think of Gabirel's lips mouthing the words. His strong hands turning the page. His mind, which was strong, rich, and in sync with the Holy Spirit itself.  
To say that Aziraphale was repressed in his sexuality was only partly correct. While he knew he was gay, he refused to acknowledge the fact. He figured maybe he could hide the fact from the Creator if he hid it from himself. And though he hated hiding things from anyone, he found a strange comfort in deceiving himself. Of course, he couldn't really deceive himself, but the very idea felt, oddly enough, comforting. Growing up in a religious household where nothing was a secret before G0d, and you did right always, Aziraphale felt pleasure in his own betrayal to himself.  
And that brings us back to the idea. A simple one, really. A secret mission. As Aziraphale pulled up in front of the synagogue, he felt like he didn't belong. The whole time from parking the car, to getting out of the car, to walking into the building, all he felt was shame. It was almost enough to turn around, but he didn't. Maybe it was the fact that his current religious beliefs were already causing him shame. Maybe it was because he wanted to see how this all played out. Either could be correct. But the reason doesn't matter. Aziraphale stepped into the synagogue, pushed open the doors, and took a seat in the back.  
The set up was small. The entire shul consisted of three rows of folded chairs, with an aisle in the center. There was a podium for the rabbi, and one musician with a guitar. Aziraphale wasn't sure what he had been expecting, but it was not this.   
Aziraphale was deep in his thoughts when he heard the chair next to him squeak. His eyes raced to look at the stranger, starting with their shoes. They were black leather boots. He worked his way up to skinny black jeans. He skipped from the legs of the jeans to the belly button (this was a place of worship, after all). His shirt was black, and he had on a black blazer. The man's hair was red, he wore dark sunglasses, and his face was undoubtedly handsome. His cheekbones were rugged, his lips pouty, and-fuck. Aziriphale did not enjoy cursing, but fuck was he horny for this strange man.The man caught him smiling, and gave a smirk back. Aziraphale, for a second, felt at peace. The man grabbed what appeared to be a prayer book. He must have felt Aziriphale's stare, because the man offered the book to Aziraphale. Nodding like a fool, Aziraphale took the book with one hand, and began to pull it towards him, when the man let out a laugh that made Aziraphale melt. It was infatuation. Lust. But Aziraphale didn't truly care. The man could've suggested murder, and Azriphale wouldn't have called the cops on him. He felt, whatever it was, that intensely.   
The man whispered to Aziraphale in a husky, warm voice.  
"Mind sharing?"  
Aziraphale all but got down on his knees and begged for forgiveness. Instead, he nodded quite freciously, and turned his head back to the front of the room. While he appeared to be focusing, Aziraphale was really using his peripheral vision to watch the man, who mostly just sat there with a smirk on his face. When they got to a certain prayer, Aziriphale couldn't tell what it was or meant, it was all in a language he couldn't understand, the man smiled and belted out.  
"Lecha Dodi," the man started.  
He seemed to crush the chorus, but mumble through the verses. It was cute, Aziraphale thought. He could tell he cared. As the song came to what Aziraphale figured was the end, it, in fact, did not end.   
"La la la la, la la la la," they sang.   
The man was grooving. He was swinging his head back and forth and moving his arms as if the music was disco.  
"Wanna dance," he asked.   
Aziraphale could only nod. The male smiled, and pulled Aziraphale into a tango, mixed with an Irish jig. They rocked back and forth to the tune, and Aziraphale could not stop laughing. Finally the song ended, and the two stood, staring at each other, panting. Aziraphale reluctantly pushed himself away. The rest of the service passed by in a blur.   
When everyone began to get up, Aziraphale looked down at the ground. He felt silly. For coming to a service of another faith, for flirting, for everything. He was sure this man didn't care about him at all. That's why he was surprised when he heard a gentle cough, and looked up to see the man with a plate of dessert in his hand.  
"You coming," the man asked.  
"I'm not Jewish," Aziraphale blurted out.  
The man shrugged.   
"Mate," the man said, " I'm offering you free dessert. You don't have to be Jewish, just don't be dumb."  
Aziraphale smiled. It was harsh, but it's what he needed to hear.   
He stood up, and followed the man to the dessert table.  
"I'm Crowley, by the way," the man said.  
"Aziraphale," Aziraphale replied.  
"So, just came for the food," Crowley asked, mischief in his eyes.  
"Oh no," Aziraphale defended, "I would never- I mean I don't mean to offend- I mean…"  
"It was a joke," Crowley reassured.  
There was a pause.  
"I've lost my faith in G0d, I'm afraid," Aziraphale admitted.  
"Did you find anything tonight," Crowley asked.  
"I don't know what I've found," Aziraphale responded, "but I think I may have found something."  
Crowley smiled.   
"Here," Crowley said, handing Aziraphale his phone.  
"What," a confused Aziraphale blurted out.  
"It's my phone," Crowley explained, "Put your number in it. I know what it's like to feel alone. Like your suffering and no one's listening. Call me. We'll set up a time to meet up and discuss religion."  
Aziraphale stared at the phone, and then at Crowley. Everything seemed to freeze.   
Aziraphale, alone in this moment saw two roads divide. In one, he ignored this. This feeling, this man, it all. He put it away, and ran home, ran to Gabriel, ran to church and said a thousand Hail Mary's. In the other, he made a risk, with a thousand rewards, or a thousand damnations. It was everything he was running from, everything he was afraid of, right in front of him. Time resumed, and Aziraphale knew what he had to do.  
"I'd love that," he said, putting his number in the phone.


End file.
